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by fairgraves



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm trying for slow burn but if I'm honest with myself it will just be a regular burn., Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairgraves/pseuds/fairgraves
Summary: A silo explosion. A very mad John Seed. And a hurt Deputy.





	1. Chapter 1

One of the joys of riding around Holland Valley was finding John’s silos and blowing them sky high. There was nothing more satisfying than spotting one on the horizon, grabbing a remote explosive, and taking it off the map. John would usually radio her soon after to complain. God, did the man love to complain. And if Luna was being honest, she loved to listen. Her day revolved around the things she could do to in Holland Valley to make him mad and draw him out; blowing up his silos with remote explosives and setting fire to the Green Busch Fertilizer Plant were only a few of her recent adventures. It was so easy to get John riled up.

Luna had thought that today would be just the same but she miscalculated. She had been casing John’s ranch out for quite some time now, trying to figure out when the best time would be to ambush the place. She usually stayed until dusk to make it easier for her to go unnoticed as she made her way back to a Resistance outpost. Tonight was no different in that respect. She had only recently noticed the silo near John’s ranch and under the cover of near darkness, she decided to blow it up. Hell, she thought, the fire from the silo explosion would throw off enough light to help her see her way home. The problem with this plan, that she found out really quickly, was that she couldn’t see who also didn’t see her in the darkness.

She grabbed the remote explosive, threw it about a hundred and fifty meters towards the silo, and then backed off. She hit the remote trigger and the silo blew up like usual, but upon detonation the fire lit up the entire area and that’s when she saw John’s men close by. And they saw her too.

Luna took off running, but the men were too quick. They grabbed her around the waist mid sprint and threw her to the ground. Three men had given chase, but only two descended on her – kicking, punching, and kicking some more – and she didn’t even have a chance. Every time she tried to stand they would kick her down again. Every time she reached for her backpack (with her fucking gun in it), they would punch her in the face. Soon, she was curled into a ball trying to protect herself from serious damage, with dirt matting her hair and blood staining her clothes. The fight was hardly fair.

Neither she nor her attackers saw John arrive on the scene, but there he was behind the men. Luna saw him first and began to laugh bitterly. Of course, he’d show up to see her suffer. Of fucking course.

“Gentlemen,” he said, stern and clear, his handsome face contorted in derision. How his voice managed to penetrate the chaos of the burning silo and the angry yells of her captors, Luna did now know.

The men froze immediately and turned in horror. The taller of her two attackers, taller than even John, spoke up, “John! We’ve captured the sinner.” Sinner came out of his mouth like it was a dirty word – contemptible, cold. He pointed down at Luna, crumpled in the dirt. John spared her a quick glance and then looked back at his men.

“What did I tell everyone about capturing the Deputy?” John asked the men, voice strained.

The shorter attacker parroted previous instructions, “Not to hurt her, but to shoot her with bliss bullets.”

The onlooker said nothing and was rooted to the spot, his eyes wide with fear. Luna guessed he had been a witness to John’s outbursts before.

“And yet,” John bit out, “here you are, doing exactly what you shouldn’t.” When the tall man tried to give an excuse, John held up his hand to stop him, and walked by him towards Luna.

John had a sympathetic look on his face, kind eyes regarding her thoughtfully. Luna had long stopped laughing. Seeing him here turned the blood in her veins to ice practically and she too was afraid of what he would do to her. She wasn’t normally scared of John, despite the crazy outbursts and threats he had given her in the past, but being weak and vulnerable in the dirt below him suddenly made her nervous. He could do anything to her now and she didn’t have much fight to give. It hurt to even breathe at this point.

John reached where she laid in the dirt and sunk to his haunches in front of her. She couldn’t see the men behind him anymore and all she could see was John. John with his too-blue eyes and not a hair out of place, with his immaculate shoes and his expensive coat sweeping in the dirt. He reached out to her and she withered away from his touch. Instead of hitting her too though, he smoothed a lock of hair away from her face delicately, his fingertips brushing against her temple.

“Deputy, what should be done to these men?” he murmured, talking just low enough so none of the men behind him – his men – could hear.

Luna couldn’t believe the trap he was setting for her. Alarm bells were ringing and ringing and ringing in her ears. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn’t have the strength to brush them away. His tenderness seemed like the last kick to her gut. She closed her eyes and waited for John’s temperament to switch.

“Hmm, Deputy?” He prodded, his voice soft and soothing, “What should be done?”

Luna began to laugh, low and pained and a little maniacal too. He was asking her what she would have him do? The cruelty of a supposed choice was almost too much to bear. Her chest and stomach burned with the exertion of even a laugh, so she switched back to tears and rolled from her side to her back. “Kill them all, John,” she opened her eyes and leveled a sneer at him, “Will you do that for me?”

He reached out to her again and brushed the tears from her cheeks and when he pulled away, his hands were covered in her blood. He didn’t seem to notice. “My goodness, Deputy. I can’t say I’m surprised you’d say that.” The words were smart, but his tone was still sweet.

She braced herself for more pain.

John wheeled around on his heel and addressed his men, his voice detached from any real emotion he normally displayed. “Gentlemen, you’ve broken my rule about hurting the Deputy. You’ve broken the Father’s rule,” he reached into his coat, nonchalantly, and revealed a gun. Luna shrunk away from him and closed her eyes, getting ready to be murdered in a field over a fucking silo.

John continued, “And the lady wants you to die so…”

Luna’s eyes snapped open.

“That’s what you’re going to do.”

There were gun shots, and cries for mercy, and John standing above the men while he kicked them. It all happened so fast and when they were dead (even the onlooker, she realized with horror), John panted from the exertion and laughed heartily in equal measure. Was he happy that he had killed them? Elated that he had “won”? Probably both. When he spun back to Luna, she noticed he looked happier than he ever had been in her presence before, with a beatific smile that was so genuine it actually reached his eyes. Her guts roiled around in her stomach at that look of happiness despite the pure misery inflicted. Fuck.

Luna tried to pull herself backwards while John stalked towards her. “Deputy,” he growled, “Don’t move. You’ll only hurt yourself more.” He grabbed her backpack and slung it over his shoulder and then bent over her, scooping her up in his arms like she weighed nothing. The pain of being held and moved was unbearable. The realization that she was captured by John and she could do little to nothing about it was terrifying. She cried out and tried to push away from his chest, but it was of no use; her strength was gone and John was on an adrenaline high – she could feel his heart hammering in his chest – and for the first time in her entire life, she felt helpless.

The frenzy of the moment dropped her in and out of consciousness, shards of memory pieced together only later: John’s shoes covered in blood, the tune he whistled absentmindedly as he made the short trip to his ranch (“We’ll Meet Again”, she thinks it was), the softest fucking bed she’s ever felt before, and then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Luna glared up at the wood beamed ceiling trying to remember where John had taken her last night after the silo debacle. She thinks this is his ranch, but she can’t be sure since she doesn’t even remember arriving. All she knows for certain is that she’s awoken several times and he’s always nearby.

Sometimes it’s daytime, with the bright sunlight shining in on her, begging her to get out of bed. John will walk in the room to check on her, running his index finger along her temple and murmur words she doesn’t remember. He’ll ask her questions and she’ll respond in kind, but she’s only functioning on a here and now basis. There’s no remembering the moment once it’s passed.

And sometimes it’s nighttime, with the moonlight shining in through the window, illuminating John. He’s curled up on the arm chair beside the bed with his long legs hanging off the end of the adjoining ottoman, despite the fact that there’s an over-abundance of space in the bed beside her. His back is to Luna, and she follows the silver-ribboned scars etched into his skin, her eyes trailing over him like she’s following a map.  

But now? It’s sometime mid-day, with rain pitter-pattering against the roof. John is not in the room with her, but she can hear him in the distance. He sounds like he’s in a kitchen somewhere rattling pots and pans, but where that kitchen might be, she has no idea.

The bedroom she’s in is large and tastefully decorated in a style that an interior designer might call “rustic chic” and what Sharky Boshaw would definitely call “fancy backwoods asshole.” The bedroom door is ajar on the left wall and a row of windows on the right, with a dresser and an entrance to a large, well-organized walk-in closet on the far wall in front of her. Luna’s eyes catch sight of her backpack and boots lying on the floor near the dresser.

Luna moved an inch as if to get out of the bed and was immediately assailed with white hot pain in her side like there were a thousand tiny knives poking into her ribs and they were all urging her back into bed  _or else_. She kept going, the pain in her side and the pounding in her head be damned because she needs to get out of this house.

A warm ice pack flopped from its place underneath her shirt to the floor with a thud and she froze in place with one foot dangling from the bed. The noise is minuscule compared to the racket John is making in the other room, but she still listens for movement cautiously. When she hears none, she stands and crosses the bedroom to her backpack on tiptoes. Luna sinks to her knees gingerly, cautious of the noise she’s already made and weary of the pain she’s knowingly inflicting on herself.

It would appear that John has been kind to her thus far – killing for her, taking her in, and taking care of her (she’ll think about  _that_  later) – and she is grateful to a certain extent, but he’s mercurial and she knows his good temperament will only last so long. Luna needs her gun if she’s going to walk out of this place without too much of a hassle. She rooted through her bag and took note of everything: hoodie, map, oregano, grappling hook, Skittles, $122 dollars, binoculars. And wouldn’t you know it? She’s got everything except her gun and radio which are nowhere to be found.  _Fuck_.    

“Deputy,” John sighed behind her, “I’d have to be an idiot to let you keep your gun in my home.”

Luna jumped about a foot in the air when she hears him behind her, turning slowly to him. She gasps out from the pain of the twist in her torso and then catches sight of him, casually leaning against the door frame, his shoulder propped against the wood, and his arms folded across his chest. He’s blocking the exit, and maybe purposely so, but he is relaxed, wide-eyed, calm.  _He is beautiful_ , Luna thinks errantly, before wincing at the thought.

“I went downstairs to get you a new ice pack to keep the swelling down on your stomach,” he said simply, proffering the ice pack from under his arm where his hand was folded, “You’re got at least two broken ribs. But since you’re up and awake, you should take a shower. It’ll give me time to wash the sheets you’ve dirtied up.”

Luna huffed and scrunched her nose at the slight which she immediately regretted, if only for the horrible pain that shot through her face when she moved it. She followed his gaze behind her to the bed, and sure enough, the sheets were streaked in dirt and blood. Her reaction, normally, would have been to apologize if she had inconvenienced anyone, but she couldn’t help but think that so much of this was his fault to begin with.  _His_  men had hurt  _her_  and then he had put her in his bed.  _His fault_. Her mind hissed at her,  _but you had to blow up his silo though, didn’t you…?_

John held out his hand to her to help her up, but she ignored it and pulled herself up by the windowsill to her right. He looked miffed at the slight, but said nothing of it. The window was nailed shut and beyond that and down a flight, two men walk by with AR-Cs. Now she knows for sure that she’s at John’s ranch, and she’s pretty sure he means to keep her here for a while if he’s got armed guards walking the perimeter. The hair on the back of Luna’s neck stands up at the thought.

John led her through the closet to the bathroom on the other side of it. The bathroom is decorated as grandly as the bedroom – a bathroom fit for a fancy backwoods asshole – and is outfitted with a double vanity, a clawfoot tub and a separate shower, an intricate blue and white patterned tile floor, and three large windows overlooking the back lawn. Luna doesn’t have to get very far into the room to notice those are nailed shut too.

John, oblivious to her mounting panic ( _or maybe he doesn’t care?_ ), pointed out different things she could use in the bathroom, like a purple toothbrush he lined up on the marble countertop next to his blue one, the accompanying toothpaste, a brand-new bar of soap, a washcloth, and a towel. When Luna asked for two towels instead of the one, he quirked an eyebrow at her request but capitulated without making her beg.

Luna caught sight of herself in the mirror and lord did she wish she hadn’t. She’s standing behind John looking less like a woman and more like a troll in need of a bridge to live under. Her face is swollen and bruised practically everywhere, she’s got a fat lip and a black right eye, and her hair is matted to her forehead and neck with blood and dirt. She’s hunched slightly, compensating for the pain in her side, and she looks like she just crawled out of the grave.

 _This is the epitome of embarrassment_ , she thinks miserably. Never has she felt so inferior to a man she previously felt better than. If John even notices the growing blush across her cheeks, she can’t be sure, and he says nothing about that either. After completing the brief bathroom tour (“The floor is heated,” he tells her proudly), he leaves her and shuts the door behind himself as he goes.

Luna watches him leave, gob smacked with how kind he’s been with her the entire time. She huddled behind the door, listening carefully for him and hearing the  _thwip thwip thwip_  as he tugged the sheets up from the bed. He’s whistling that fucking tune as he works. “Deputy,” he calls, softly from the other side, “If you’d like I can wash your clothes with the bedding.”

She’s filthy – grosser than she’s ever been before – which is really saying something considering she once woke up hungover in the middle of the field surrounded by pigs after the Testy Festy, but she still recoils from the door at his offer. She’s hyperaware right now of just how disgusting she is, reminded of it at every turn, but what was she supposed to do while they were being washed, walk around in a towel? She’s only now keenly aware of how smart Sharky truly is to carry around a spare pair of underwear everywhere he goes. God, what she wouldn’t give for a clean pair right about now. “I – um – no thanks. I don’t have any extra clothes to wear.”

John sighed again from the other side of the door. “I have a robe you can wear while you wait.”

It takes her far less time to concede than it should have. She should decline the offer. But does she?  _Nope_. She passed her clothes through a crack in the door and handed the dirty bundle over to a smiling John. Luna thinks he’s fighting the urge to say something about her being naked on the other side of the door, but he thankfully refrains. He’s clearly amused by her modesty though, and if she had to guess, he’s happy just to let her stew about it.  

He traded her his robe through the crack in the door and told her to come downstairs when she’s finished and he’ll cook her something to eat. Luna agrees to nothing, closes and locks the bathroom door, and hopes to God he doesn’t have a Norman Bates peep hole somewhere in this bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, my Far Cry 5 tumblr is marymay-fairgrave. Stop by if you'd like!
> 
> Also, hoping to get the next chapter up very soon. The next chapter is going to be... fun for me. lol


	3. Chapter 3

John’s shower is, without a doubt, the best thing to happen to Luna since she got to Holland Valley. Unlike the Resistance outposts, John still has hot water at his ranch, and he also has a suspended showerhead that mimics rain showers. _Because of course he does_. Luna spends the first ten minutes of the shower just standing under the water and letting it barrel at her skin, both pummeling and soothing her sore body in equal measure. It’s only when her skin starts to turn pruney that she even begins to wash her hair and body.

Luna is taking her time in the bathroom, dreading the confrontation to come with John. She has no weapon to hurt him with should he try to stop her from leaving and with her injuries there’s simply no way she could fight her way out. Sneaking away was also not a viable plan with the windows nailed shut and the guards patrolling below. Then of course, there is her lack of clothes that she gave up so quickly – _too quickly_ , she reminds herself – and while her nakedness wouldn’t prevent her from leaving if she absolutely needed to make a run for it, it would be extremely unfortunate and she’d never recover from the sheer embarrassment of it. Nick for one would never let her live that down.

But all of that pales in comparison to what’s really anchoring her to this house. And Luna, dressed now in John’s robe, brushing her hair with his brush, and writing her name in cursive across the glass surface of his steamy bathroom mirror, suddenly realizes just what’s keeping her here in this house. She froze to the spot in horror, her finger hovering in front of the mirror, and her heartbeat practically beating out of her chest because…

She doesn’t even _want_ to leave and worse yet, she doesn’t want to leave _John_.

“Well, tough shit,” she says to the steamed-up mirror, before swiping it clean in a burst of exasperation. She looked at her reflection – a minor improvement from her pre-shower self – and then squares her shoulders. _This man is your enemy. You cannot stay_.

Luna bounded down the hallway towards the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floorboards. The hall was open and looked down upon the dining, living, and kitchen areas, and she saw John placing two bowls onto his long cherry wood dining table. He looked up from his task and smiled fondly at her in his robe.

“I’ve made you some soup. Come sit and eat.”

Luna plopped her shoes and backpack by the door, hoping he’d get the hint that she wasn’t staying, but the smell of the soup tugged at her. She was _so_ hungry. Maybe she could just eat a little and then run? _No_. The smart part of her whispered through her mind, _Be discerning, you fool._

She narrowed her eyes at him. Poison in the soup perhaps? Bliss? Not to mention that there were rumors of someone in the Seed family being a bad cook. If the poison didn’t kill her, his culinary skills just might.

Luna declined and John visibly bristled at her refusal, his spine straightening and jaw tightening. He was still smiling, but whatever fondness he had for her was draining at a rapid rate. “And just why not? You must be starving.”

Lord knows she wanted to eat the fucking soup, but couldn’t bring herself to accept. If John didn’t trust her enough to have a gun in his house (and rightfully so), she wasn’t going to eat his cooking and choke to death on a healthy dose of rat poison. He had saved her from his men and she did feel a pull to stay here in this house with John taking care of her, but he was still very much her enemy and she simply couldn’t chance it.

“You can understand why I might not want to accept food from you, right John?”

“I’ve taken care of you thus far without incident, have I not? Why go to all that trouble just to kill you now, Deputy?” He gestured to the exit, presumably towards the field he plucked her from, his voice dropping a decibel lower, “I could have just left you rotting in that field if I had wanted to.”

If he was trying to reassure her, it wasn’t working, and Luna, with her anger steadily rising, leveled a look at him that should have struck him dead. “No, instead you kidnapped me.”

Did she really believe he kidnapped her? No. But did she want to piss him off? _Yes_.

He immediately launched into a self-righteous sermon with his hands gesticulating grandly for an imaginary audience, “ _Kidnap_ you?! I _HELPED_ you! I took you into my home, Deputy, and _for three days_ I took care of you!”

Something in her snapped too, and the fight was on. That he would first tell her he could have left her in the field to rot and then have the audacity to use his _I-took-care-of-you_ schtick like he was long-suffering was enough to send her over the edge. Luna pointed in the general vicinity of his room theatrically, to her body’s detriment and rolled her eyes so severely she was surprised they hadn’t kept rolling right out of their sockets. “Oh _please_ , John. You think I didn’t see all the windows upstairs nailed shut? You’re trying to keep me here against my will!”

And then Luna took in the three days part of his tantrum. She’s been here three days? _Christ_. Her head swims at the thought of being holed up with John for that long. She knows he’s done nothing evil to her, but three days is three days too many with John Seed.

He smiled, too wide and all teeth, derision dripping off of him, and leaned across the table. “I’m not trying to keep you here against your will, my dear. Those fucking windows are nailed shut to keep you out, not in. You think I didn’t know you were staking out my home? You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

Luna felt herself blush, but refused to rise to his bait. John waited for her comeback to his revelation, tapping his fingers against the table like they were counting down to her answer. She also thinks that maybe he’s trying to find an outlet for his anger, but she’s not even really sure why; it wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken his anger out on her.

Luna knows she’s pushing her luck with John’s patience, it’s just that she doesn’t care anymore. She straightens as best as she can and needles at him, because if there’s a contest going on right now between them on who can make the other explode into an unhinged fury first, she’s in the lead and she wants to win. “Fine, then I guess you don’t care if I walk out the front door right now?”

“Fine by me,” he hissed immediately, in response. Any idiot could see though that he was anything but fine. Those perfect features of his were contorted into a sneer and he looked as though he was ready to jump across the table and strangle her.

Luna dropped her gaze from his glare to look at his tapping fingers pointedly and then leaned forward to tease him. “Am I making you angry, John?”

“Very!”

She smiled triumphantly. “Good.”

Luna left John at his table to walk to her backpack and boots near what she presumes is the front door (it’s the most ornate door and has a window in it, but it could be headed to the backyard for all she knew). In her anger, she’s not thinking about all the things she should be, like: _Where are my clothes? Why am I putting my boots on before my clothes?_ _Will this man shoot me in the back while I’m turned away from him?_ Her anger is driving her now and she’s not really in any kind of control.

“Deputy,” John called out in defeat, sounding panicked. He crossed around the table to follow her and grabbed at her arm in an effort to stop her. “You can’t leave – it’s raining and you’re still in my robe.”

Luna ripped her arm out of his grasp, spun around to face him, and pointed accusingly. “I can’t leave, John? If I’m not a prisoner here with you, then I’ll do as I please. And anyway,” she seethed at him, lifting her chin to glare at him and untying the belt on the robe in defiance, “I don’t want your stupid robe anyway. I’ll walk out of her naked if I need to.”

John jumped forward to grab the front of the robe before she could even let it open or fall, twisting the fabric in his fist to keep the robe shut. He was uncomfortably close now – the unexpectedness of the gesture dousing water on her burning anger – and a brief silence fell between them. Luna watched him as he watched her – his head down with his gaze fixed somewhere just below her collarbone – _where he likes to tattoo the sins of people_ , she thought. She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind and he’s clearly thinking about _something_ , but what he is thinking about she could have never predicted.

When he glanced up again, his gaze meeting hers, his eyes were wide again instead of narrowed in a sneer, and impossibly blue. He opened his mouth once and then closed it in a false start, before starting again. His voice was soft, and a little bit hoarse. “No one would enjoy you walking out of here naked more than me, but you’ll catch a cold and die, and then where will I be?”

Luna sputtered a little at his confession, unsure at first exactly how to respond. She felt like the conversation was going to a place she’d rather avoid and she didn’t know what to think of what John would enjoy, so she avoided addressing _that_ , but she did feel it necessary to remind him that he had already tried to drown her once before.

“I didn’t try to drown you. You were unclean, Deputy, and besides…” he said, distracted momentarily by the robe’s belt as he cinched it slowly, “You and I have a complicated relationship.”

A flicker of something mean flashed through John quickly and he tugged the belt tight, drawing a surprised, pained gasp out of Luna. He looked pleased only for a moment before the reverie was over. He apologized quickly and pulled away from her, but with the way his gaze swept up to her lips and then finally to her eyes, she couldn’t help but think he knotted it a little tighter than he needed to on purpose to gauge her reaction and commit it to memory.

All of John’s anger had left him. He was back to calm and collected and was apparently feeling generous once more because he knelt down on a knee in front of Luna to tie her boots for her. Luna gripped his shoulder to keep herself steady and realized now, in the last few minutes she had with him (if he did indeed intend to let her leave), that her anger with him had subsided too. Her anger and fear had disappeared and instead was replaced with something new.

“I want my gun and radio, John,” Luna instructed him, with none of the forcefulness she was hoping for.

He hummed thoughtfully at her demand, but ignored it for the time being to finish tying her other boot. On his way back up to his feet, he grabbed her bag, swung it over her shoulder gently, before opening the front door for her like he was some type of gentleman. “Absolutely not, Deputy. You’ll get neither.”

“Why not?” She was stalling, fumbling for things to delay her departure. It _was_ raining really hard out. She was trying to think of all the reasons she should stay here with him from the nearly logical _he took care of you_ all the way to the downright crazy _god his eyes are really blue_. 

“Can’t risk it with that _wrath_ of yours.” And without taking his eyes of Luna, John instructed one of his cronies stationed on the porch to radio every Peggie in the vicinity to let her leave without shooting. “Unless,” he amended sternly, “she gives you reason to shoot.”

When the radio call was made, John gave her one long last look and asked her if she wanted to change her mind and stay. Like the night in the field, he reached a hand up to her temple and swept a lock of hair behind her ear. “If you stay, I’ll take care of you, Deputy. I promise.” 

Luna felt flushed and warm. She blinked.

 _You’re weak_ , her mind hissed at her. _Get out of here now_.  

She stepped off the porch and didn’t look back.


	4. Chapter 4

Luna arrived at the Rye’s house at around three thirty in the afternoon, looking more like a drowned rat than a real person. Nick was not at home, but Kim greeted her at the door and looked, to put it mildly, _concerned_. In Nick’s place, sat Sharky, dozing off on the couch with a beer that was teetering on his knee, and Adelaide, sitting in the recliner, flipping through an old issue of _Cosmo_.

Kim reached out for her and then froze, her eyes wide and shifting, running over her face and down her neck, cataloguing all the bruises and abrasions she could see. “Deputy, what happened to you? Where have you been?”

Luna grimaced at the questions. Stupidly, she hadn’t thought through what would happen if she arrived at the Rye’s house, but she was glad Nick was out at least. Luna didn’t really want to see his face when she explained where she had been for the past three days and couldn’t bear the thought that he was disappointed in her.

Luna opened her mouth to tell her, but instead from the couch, Sharky let out a monstrous belch that woke him up from his nap, and could have practically shook the entire house and blown her off the porch if she hadn’t been used to his infamous beer burps already.

Kim frowned and gestured behind her. Her voice dropped an octave like she was sharing a secret and said flatly, “My protectors.”

Kim wasn’t exactly thrilled that Nick thought she needed armed guards, that much had always been clear, and her nerves seemed particularly frayed today. Nick must have been out for a while. (And although Luna would never tell her so, she agreed with Nick on this point, at least until the baby came, and Kim could kick peoples’ asses properly again.)

Adelaide threw her magazine at Sharky in disgust, waking him with curses that could put a trucker to shame. When she felt he was sufficiently scolded, she got up and joined Kim and Luna at the front door.

Adelaide let out a low whistle and mused, “What in the world happened to you, Deputy? My lord, you look like god chewed you up and spit you out.”

On this point, Sharky agreed, appearing at the crowded threshold, yawning. “Yeah, Dep. You got so many purple bruises on ya, that you look like a squashed jelly sandwich.”

Kim gave him a good-natured swat in the stomach and tried to stifle a small grin at that, before pulling Luna inside by the wrist gingerly. Kim sat Luna’s backpack near the door, and guided Luna past the staircase that led to the bedrooms, through the small living room, and into the kitchen where she sat her in a dining chair.

“You must be hungry,” Kim announced, as if she could tell instinctively that she was. She pulled plates and knives from the cupboards and bread, lunch meat, and enough mayo from the fridge to feed an army. She instructed all three of her visitors to sit, despite Adelaide’s suggestion that she should get the food on account of Kim being heavily pregnant. Kim shooed her away.  

Sharky pulled up a seat next to Luna, eager to eat. “Well, now that you mention it, I am starving.”

Adelaide took the banishment to the kitchen table in stride, slowly surveying Luna, and brushing the sleeve of John’s robe on her way to her seat, her fingertips skimming over the blue brocade fabric. She eyed Luna with a raised eyebrow. “Now, where’d you get this nice, _expensive_ robe from anyhow, hmm? And why are you wearing it out in the rain like this?”

With the way Adelaide asked and held Luna’s gaze for longer than necessary, it seemed like she already knew exactly where the robe came from. Luna tried to telepathically beg her to be quiet – maybe she could just not mention John? Maybe Luna could simply gloss over the fact that he had saved her…?

But if anything, the past few days had showed her just how unlucky she really was, because Kim ran with Adelaide’s line of questioning and added, “And who the hell hurt you anyway? Do I need to send Nick out to drop a bunch of bombs on these Peggie assholes??”

Luna took a bite out of her sandwich and chewed it miserably, stalling for time. She looked across the table at each of her friends wondering if they’d hate her for where she’d been. Hell, she kind of hated herself for where she had been.  

“Well, you see…” Luna started, her voice faltering, unsure of how to explain, “A few days ago I blew up that silo. You know the one near John Seed’s ranch? But some Peggies saw me and grabbed me and then…”

Sharky tore off a huge bite of his sandwich. With a mouthful he bellowed, “OH MY GOD. That fucking dick John Seed hurt you, Dep? Doesn’t seem like his MO but man is he a sick fuck.”

Kim gasped. “Did he, Dep? Because if he did, I’ll go over to his ranch right now and kick his ass.”

Adelaide was strangely quiet. When Luna caught her eye, she smiled encouragingly. She was loving this. And she knew. Luna didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Was it the robe? Women’s intuition? _Fuck_.  

Luna tried to defuse their collective anger, waving away the assumption that it was John that had hurt her, “No, no – John didn’t – he didn’t hurt me. He saved me. Killed all the Peggies beating on me and then took me to the ranch and took care of me.”

Sharky dropped his sandwich, Kim’s mouth hung open, dumbfounded, and Adelaide looked fully pleased. Luna felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Wait, Dep, what do you mean John Seed _took care of you_ at his house?” Sharky turned to Adelaide and gave her a look that said _told you so_. But what did he know if he was acting this shocked about being at John’s house?

Luna pointed her finger at Sharky and then Adelaide, incriminating them both. “Hey, what the hell was that?”

Sharky feigned confusion at first, but that man wouldn’t have been able to lie effectively to save his life. “What was what?”

“That look, Sharky. Why did you look at Adelaide like that?” Luna stole a glance at Kim too to see if she knew what was going on. Kim stared back at her with wide, innocent eyes. Kim’s mouth was still catching flies.

“Well, ya see, Dep…” He lifted his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it sheepishly. Sharky was stalling and for a man who spent his entire life saying whatever he pleased, no matter how crazy or downright offensive, this did not bode well. Luna’s guts rumbled in anticipation.

It was Adelaide that spoke up first, never one to mince words when it came to what she had once referred to as ‘affairs of the heart.’ “John wants you really bad. Have you considered he's maybe in some kind of love with you?” When Luna sat back stunned, Addie continued, the older woman’s eyes searching her face for something that Luna couldn’t place, “Yeah, he’s tried to kill you two or three times already, but he's playing cat and mouse…”        

Luna felt instantly nauseous. She didn’t dare look over at Kim.

And then, as if he was bursting like a balloon, Sharky leaned forward, “Aunt Addie’s right. John really does have a hard-on for you, so I'm thinking you two should just fuck and – uh – get it over with.”

Adelaide nodded in agreement and lifted her sandwich like she was toasting Luna with it. “Next time you find yourself alone with him, maybe a good long something or other could save all our necks.”

Luna sputtered, backed away from the table, and walked out the front door of the Rye’s house in a daze without another word. She was still in John’s robe, she left her backpack behind, and the rain was still relentlessly falling, but this time, her clothing and the weather didn’t even register.

Adelaide followed her to the porch and yelled after her, “Well, anyway, think about it! A lotta people would thank you for taking one for the team. Hell, John probably would too!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly in love with this chapter but had to get it out. I've been agonizing over this one for like a month and feel like I've tortured the chapter enough. Next chapter should be better (I hope!).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? An update after like 3 months??

The mess Luna was in was far larger than even she had anticipated. She had a knack for situations like these: falling _in like_ with men who were damaged and finding out they felt the same for her. Luna’s last two boyfriends were disasters, but John Seed was cataclysmic.

Luna spent hours thinking about what John had done for her and how she wanted him to take care of her forever. _Forever_. That’s how she knew it was bad; she spent a long weekend with him that she doesn’t even fully remember and suddenly she’s thinking about the possibilities of _forever_? And far beyond that even is the fact that they are on different sides of a war and he’s an evil shit.

_But your last boyfriend liked saltines crushed on the top of chocolate ice cream and cheated on you a dozen times_ , her subconscious responded, _so how evil is too evil, really_?

Luna had avoided Sharky, Adelaide, Hurk (guilty by association), and the Ryes while she took the time to sort out her own feelings and avoid their judgment (Nick and Kim’s especially) and instead took up the call from other Fall’s End residents who weren’t aware of her John Seed run in just yet. Mary May would probably be the most judgmental of all the residents about it given her past with John, so she was determined to finish her request for help first.

Mary May had requested that Luna recover her father’s semi-truck, the Widowmaker, which was being kept at the Holland Valley grain elevator. There were five Peggies guarding the truck, weaving their way around the grounds and keeping an eye out for intruders. Luna didn’t bother to approach, but instead stared down her sniper rifle scope picking off the guards one by one.

Luna was on the ledge to the east of the grounds to get a better vantage point, waist deep in tall grass, and talking to herself. Every question she berated herself with was punctuated by a squeeze of the sniper rifle’s trigger.

 “What the hell are you thinking, _asshole_?” A Peggie woman dressed in white muslin dropped near the dog cages.

“You think that,” Luna held her breath, took the shot, and then exhaled, “John taking care of you was anything more than a fucking whim?” A male Peggie with a beard Eli Palmer would be envious of dropped to the pavement near the guard house by the road.

“You think he wouldn’t kill you if the mood struck?” The Peggie on the warehouse roof took a bullet to the face and then tumbled off the roof into the tall grass. She couldn’t hear the noise his fall made from where she was standing, but she guessed it was loud – two Peggies diverted from their rounds to check out the noise and each got a bullet for their trouble.

“You think he _cares_ about _you_?”

Luna scanned the area for any movement and when she saw none, she walked towards the grain elevator warehouse, kicking dirt and swearing at herself some more. It didn’t help her any that every place she went, there John Seed was, on billboards and radio recordings and TV screens touting the cult’s message. She could cross into other regions to get away from him, but he was never all that far away anyway.

Today was no exception.

He must have had cameras rigged up to watch the grounds, because almost immediately a call came over the radio ominously, relayed from every dead Peggie’s radio clipped to their belts. “Deputy, you’ve had your fun, but all sinners must confess. This is the will of the Father…”

John continued to prattle on, but Luna willfully tried not to listen. Instead, she went to each dead Peggie and searched their pockets for the warehouse key. She checked roof Peggie first, mangled in the grass, but he didn’t have the key, nor do the two Peggies who went to check on him. It’s the fourth Peggie, the woman in white, that had the key. _She must have been the responsible one_ , Luna thinks.  

Luna unlocked the warehouse door and went in, only vaguely registering a moving camera high on the wall because the Widowmaker was just where Mary May said it would be and it’s even more impressive in person, in all its menacing glory.

The camera followed her, swiveling on its axis as she approached the truck, but she didn’t even bother to look up at it. She had no doubt that John had already called his men to come and capture her. Plus? She already knew he was a total weirdo and _of course_ he would be watching her on the camera.

Luna hopped on the truck’s steps to peer into the driver side door; no keys in the ignition. _Maybe the keys are in the visor?_ She tugged on the door handle but the door was locked. _Gotta be a key around here somewhere…_ A shrill, tinny landline rang behind her, breaking her from her thoughts. It stopped for a moment, and then rang again. And again. And again.

It had to be John.

The landline was hanging in the warehouse’s little office directly behind her. She tried to convince herself not to answer, but the _I Make Bad Decisions_ impulse drove her to the phone instead. She picked up the phone, cradled it in the space between shoulder and her ear, and took a good look at her cuticles. If John was watching her, she hoped she looked unaffected, bored. In reality though, her heart was racing and she was looking for fingernails she could chew.

“Hope County Morgue, this is Salome speaking,” she answered happily, “How may I direct your call?”

“Salome, huh? Clever,” John responded, “but you sound like an insufferable woman I know named _Luna_.”

She froze for a moment, trying to figure out how he could possibly know her name and why he sounded so delighted to know it. And then suddenly it all clicked: she had written her name on his bathroom mirror on the steamy glass. Obviously she hadn’t wiped it off as clean as she had thought.

Well, as much as she wanted to stay on the call with John, she knew better. Luna didn’t trust that she wouldn’t do something stupid; that was practically her _thing_ , as it was. She smiled and turned on her customer service voice that she had acquired from her time as a barista back in college. “Sorry, I can’t say I know anyone by that name here. _Alive, anyway_.”   

 “A bit morbid, don’t you think, my dear? In one conversation making jokes about beheading me _and_ indicating that you’re dead?”

“Well, it’s not very Christian, I’ll give you that,” she quipped.

And then he did something that Luna never expected: he laughed. Not a forced laugh or a weak chuckle, but a genuine, drawn-out, warm _laugh_. Luna smiled, trying to picture it.

_Oh no_ , her subconscious hissed. _Get off this call now._   

Luna frowned, springing into action and rooting through the desk on the opposite wall of the office. She needed to get out of here. _Now_. “Why are you calling me, John? To taunt me? To tell me your men are on their way?”

“I’m calling because I want you to come home, Luna. No taunts. No tricks.”

Luna paused, her hand hovering over the keys to the Widowmaker. Her heart leapt into her throat – even if she had known what to say, she couldn’t.

“I want you here with me.”

She scooped the keys up in her palm. “John,” she said, her voice wavering, “you know I can’t.”

And then she hung up the phone, opened the garage door, and drove towards Fall’s End with a heavy heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the inconsistent writing - tenses really eff me up. I'll try to go back and make some updates to previous chapters at some point.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. 
> 
> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> And because of my extended absence, I come bearing lots of hyphens, a little smut, and a longer chapter than I've ever written before (but don't get too excited, it's still only 3k+ lol).
> 
> Please be kind, friends. This is the first time I've ever posted smut before. I hope it's not cringey and gross, but you never can tell with my writing until it's too late. 
> 
> Heads up for readers like me who need to know what they are about to read: The situation is 100% consensual, no actual intercourse but sort of close. And while I'm sure I don't need to tell you, Rook and John are pretty dysfunctional people, which of course makes for a fairly unhealthy dynamic... this however is VERY tame in comparison to some other FC5 fics out there, not because I don't recognize it for what it is, but because I don't want to write that kind of story.

Luna crossed over into the Valley after a quick sojourn to the Whitetails and was itching to find something to blow up. It wasn’t that Jacob Seed was worse or scarier than his youngest brother, because they were both equally shitty, but John was just more exciting. Half the fun of blowing things up was the reaction that she received for her insolence, but Luna had found after a week in the Whitetail Mountains that trying to get a reaction out of Jacob – a real reaction that wasn’t calculated, cold, _precise_ – was like trying to get blood out of a stone.

 _What’s that saying about curiosity and cats?_ Luna thought, as she glanced in her rearview mirror and caught sight of the giant YES sign looming above her in the mountains. If it hadn’t been built before this whole thing with the Seeds had went down, she would have sworn that John had put it so far out of reach on purpose to detract people like her from destroying it. She slammed on her breaks and made a U-turn in the middle of the road, all the junk in the backseat slamming against the car door and falling to the floor in heaps. 

_Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back._

_Appropriate_ , Luna smiled as she careened towards that god-awful sign with a horrible, wretched, brilliant scheme in mind. She loved it when plans came together.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Luna far longer to get up the damn mountain to the sign with a rocket launcher strapped to her back than it did to bring the sign down with the rocket launcher. Within five shots the sign was down completely though, on fire, and in a heap below the steel frame that had lifted the sign into the air. The fire luckily did not spread (fire spread, being a Sharky Boshaw curse _only_ , it seemed), so she stood and watched it crackle and smoke for a few minutes happily. It was the warmest she had felt in days and she didn’t know what it said about her that she was feeling prouder than she had any right to.

But good things people find at the expense of others are always short-lived.

 _Always_.

To Luna’s horror, two tattooed hands reached around her and a beard scratched against the shell of her ear. John Seed. She’d know those hands anywhere: one hand snaking against her stomach to hold her still and the other hand crunching her fingers holding the rocket launcher, trapping them between his own and squeezing so hard Luna was afraid that he’d break them off like twigs from a tree.

His breath fanned across the side of her face and his words practically slithered down into her ear. “I take it you’re feeling better then, my dear? Well enough to come back to Holland Valley and destroy it after a week of being gone? Hm?”

She was feeling better. Never better, actually. Her ribs had healed remarkably fast, the puffiness and bruising had healed on her face. She looked like a real person again, not some squashed jelly sandwich (of which, Sharky was sure to tell her the last time he saw her in passing a day and a half ago).

When she didn’t respond right away, the pressure on her hand increased and she had no choice but to drop the rocket launcher to the grass. They were lucky it wasn’t loaded, although she supposed he was probably watching her and knew it wasn’t. He let up on the pressure to her hand when she complied and slid his hand to her wrist to encircle it.

 “John,” she sighed, trying to take on a long-suffering affect, “What are you doing? Following me around like some kind of creep?”

He growled, tightening his grip on her stomach and wrist and pulled her back against his chest.

“If I see someone with a fucking rocket launcher show up on my surveillance cameras then yes, Luna, I follow them. This is _my_ property. I have a right to be here. Do _you_?”

“I did. I had probable cause.”

“Is that so?”

Luna tipped her head back on John’s shoulder and grinned so he could see. “Saw your sign was on fire and as an officer of the law I’m obligated to respond.”

But before he could respond she threw her elbow into his side, twisted around to face him, and tried her damnedest to wrench free from his grip. It wasn’t that she thought she might be able to outrun him – she guessed not, and especially on an incline like this – but she just didn’t want him to have the upper hand when he was angry. There was no telling just what he’d be willing to do to her in that case.

The problem she found out really quickly was that he was stronger than she assumed and more prepared to fight then she had hoped. With every blow she tried to land on him, he deflected it easily, and when she tried making a short run towards her backpack (the fucking gun – always the fucking gun in her backpack when she needed it the most), he kicked the bag down the embankment and out of her line of sight.

John grabbed Luna’s left wrist first and then her right in the scuffle, but was given a run for his money too; she tugged and pushed and kicked enough that he lost his balance when he stepped on the fallen rocket launcher, tumbling to the grass. He pulled her to the ground with him, falling hard on his back. Luna landed on her stomach close by and within seconds he had her flipped over and pinned.

Luna tried to thrash away from him, but he held on well enough to keep her beneath him. They were both breathing heavy now from the exertion, but curiously enough, John had enough energy to grin, perhaps pleased to have bested her.

“When this little uprising is over,” he purred breathlessly, hovering over her, “you’ll rebuild that sign piece by piece. You’ll work until your fingers are worn to the bone. And when you’re done, _I’ll bury you beneath it_.”

Luna huffed out a laugh at the thought that someone could make her do anything she didn’t want to do and propped herself up on an elbow. She knew for certain he had no intention of burying her because of the fucking sign, no matter just how furious he might be. John would not let go of her, but he did not force her back down either.

“So much for indulging me then, huh?” She teased, so close she could kiss him if she dared, and taunted him with a sing-song pout, “You won’t even let me blow up one measly sign?”  

John didn’t take the bait, and she was never one to shy away from a dare, so she kissed him and took them _both_ by surprise. He went still with shock at first, but when she pulled away in embarrassed defeat – so worried that she had made a huge mistake – his lips followed after hers, trying to find them again.

He let go of her hands and let his fingers trail down to her forearms – still caging her in and still holding her down – but he’d loosened up his grip and closed the distance between them. The kiss was frantic, the kind that stole her breath away and kept her wanting more. Every time they pulled away from each other for a moment trying to catch their breath, she would follow him, their lips parting, her tongue seeking his. When he settled between her legs though, his hips on hers, the weight of him imposing but not unwelcome, she realized just how much she ached for him.

John must have sensed her desperation because he pulled back too far for her to follow. She whined at the loss of him and he responded with a frown. Perhaps he was trying to discern exactly what the hell she thought she was doing? It was more likely however that he just didn’t trust her.

That was okay though, because she didn’t trust him all that much either.

“You think that a kiss will save you after all that you’ve done?”

He narrowed his gaze at her, focusing on her lips and waiting for a response.

“Not looking to be saved,” Luna sighed, frustrated, still pinned down but eager to touch him, kiss him, _to have free reign_ , “And you of all people should know that by now, John.”

Surprisingly, this seemed to be an acceptable answer to him for the time being. Luna doubted he cared for the sentiment of course, but at least it was a response he could recognize as genuine. He leaned down above her again, his mouth inches from her own and his eyes sliding shut.

Well, maybe he trusted her just a little since he was willing to close his eyes when she was this close.

And she recognized this moment as her one and only chance!

Luna turned her head quickly and sunk her teeth into his upper arm. She couldn’t tell for certain, but she thought the bite might have been hard enough to draw blood. Whatever the case might have been, he still had that shirt on blocking the view. She’d fix that.

The bite did exactly what she intended for it to do; it caught him off guard, immediately made him seethe with anger, and threw him off – just enough – for her to be able to flip _him_ over on his back. He still had ahold of her, but she was quick enough to reach down and rip his shirt open before he could subdue her.

Buttons flew every which way and got lost in the grass on either side of them, but the struggle was over immediately and Luna had won. All the anger and disgust he had for her melted away faster than it ever had before in her presence and in its stead, he replaced it with something new, something dark, something _pleased_.

“How do you like it when I ruin _your_ shirt, John?”

He crowed with delight. “It doesn’t bother me in the least.”

And then like any interaction she had ever had with John, he retaliated immediately. He dropped her arms like she hoped he would, but grabbed at her hips instead, grinding up against her in one smooth thrust.

He grinned when she gasped reflexively, the friction shooting a wave of need through her body.

 _Well_ , she thought, _if that’s how he’s going to play it_ …

She trailed her finger tips down the front him, reveling in the feel of the smooth planes of his stomach. Much to her satisfaction, she _finally_ had his rapt attention and found herself not wanting to disappoint.

She eased up from his lap to palm at his erection through his jeans, pushing the heel of her hand over his bulge and upwards toward his belt. He groaned at the contact.

 _Good_.

John had ceded control to Luna and allowed her to unbuckle his belt, pull it off of him and toss it behind her, but he wanted more of her too.

“Take this off,” he instructed, tugging at the bottom hem of her threadbare t-shirt. When Luna slapped his hands away, he appended it with a hopeful, “Please?”

Luna clutched at his hands, pushing them into the grass by his head and leaned down to kiss him – a reward and an apology all at once – and then sat back on his lap to pull the shirt over her head. She was deliberately slow in action, but John wasn’t bothered by it, and when she revealed herself to him – practically flat-chested, puberty having left her lacking thoroughly in the chest department long ago – he didn’t seem bothered by that either.

He thrust up against her again twice, in quick succession, this time driven by his own needy impulse, and then hoisted her up so that her chest hovered above his mouth. John didn’t bother to move the silk of her bra out of his way, and instead wrapped his mouth around her covered nipple and delicately tugged at the fabric with his teeth. The feel of teeth against one of the most sensitive areas on her body and coupled with the silky fabric pulled a moan from her and had her clutching at the back of his neck for purchase.

“ _Fuck_ , John,” she hissed, tugging on the hair just above the nape of his neck, pulling him as close as she could get him.

This seemed to spur him on, his hands roaming from the middle of her back where he had held her in place, to her front, where he cupped her breasts in his hands. He hooked his fingers between the silk and her skin, his fingers brushing across her pebbled nipples, eager to pull her bra down…

Except he didn’t get further then that. Somewhere among their clothes and personal items a crackle of radio static interrupted them and the muffled voice of a Peggie stopped them completely.

“John, this is Lonny…”

For a horrifying moment Luna thought maybe one or more of them was close by and would come upon them in the grass, illuminated by the YES sign, such as they were. Lost in the moment she hadn’t even considered that they could be found, but she’d have to be stupid not to expect something like that when she was lying in the middle of a field, straddling their holy herald for the whole world to see.

John sat up with her in his lap, but his undivided attention was gone.

 _That god-forsaken asshole, Lonny_.

She groaned with frustration and tried to grind against him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He clamped his hands against her hips and held her still.

“Be good,” he instructed her. “Wait just a min-”

“Boss, the Deputy tried to escape the bunker again.”

Luna peered at John for a moment, confused, because she had escaped John’s bunker more than a week ago now…

His body went rigid in her arms. She blinked.

 _Oh,_ Luna thought, the realization crashing into her all at once, followed by a strong wave of nausea _. Deputy Hudson. The whole fucking reason she was enemies with John Seed in the first damned place_.

 She melted off of John’s lap, Lonny still prattling through the airwaves, an oblivious idiot. Luna couldn’t make out a thing he was saying though. And she vaguely heard John behind her respond to Lonny too and then say something to her. She ignored it, snatched up her t-shirt, and pulled it over her head.

Of all the self-destructive things she’d done to herself throughout the years, nearly having sex with John Seed was probably the worst.  

“This was a mistake,” she said, before she could stop herself.

He took immediate offense, she could tell, his face screwed up in a sneer. “Oh? In what way?”

“In every way, John!” And then, more to herself while she searched for her backpack, “What was I thinking? _Fucking_ the guy who’s keeping my friend as a _prisoner_.”

“She’s not a prisoner,” he chimed in from behind her.

Luna whipped around to face him, angry. “So you’ll let her go then, John?”

The tendons in his jaw tightened and his movements were speeding up – he was getting angry and trying to contain his own wrath too. He looked down on her, his eyes narrowing.

“You know I can’t, Luna,” he said through gritted teeth, and then amended it with, “And you know I won’t.”

He was so sure, so resolute. _So that’s that, then_. Her shoulders dropped in defeat and she turned away from him. Where ever her backpack was, it was gone now. She couldn’t even count on one hand how many she had lost recently, but she hoped they would help whoever came across them in the wild. She didn’t have the time to find it and she needed to get away from him. As stupid as it was to turn her back on him, she wasn’t scared. She’d dealt with worse. Luna didn’t want to spend one more minute than she had to in John’s company, and for a lot of reasons: The number one reason right now, _this minute_ , was that her eyes were welling up with tears and she didn’t want to cry in front of him.

And if she was sad, John seemed to be stewing in bit-back remarks. He was right on her heels and the further she got down the mountain, the harder it got to keep them to himself.

“Running away again, Luna? And so soon?”

He was trying to goad her into a fight, trying to make her stop and face him and _she wouldn’t_.

And then: “You’re no better than I am.”

Luna didn’t have to think very hard about that. She knew she was better than him. “Yes, I am,” she replied flatly, “You kidnap people, hold them against their will -”

“The ends justify the means. When the Collapse comes, they’ll _thank me_. See, Luna, that’s the difference between you and me: When I come across your friends that need saving, I _gladly_ save them. When you come across my friends, you kill them, and at every chance you get.”

 _Asshole_ , she thought, bitterly.

Luna didn’t need him to tell her she was a killer. She thought often about all the ways Hope County had changed her, but the dig hit her like a punch to the gut regardless. She tried to be as discreet as possible when her tears started spilling, no sniffling, no wiping them away – she just let them fall. She was careful to keep him behind her.

Luna had tried to be the bigger person and let his comments fall flat, but that lasted all of a few minutes. “Oh, John Seed: patron saint of hypocrites,” she scoffed, “You killed three men while I watched and they were _your_ friends, if I remember correctly.”

“You asked me to, darling.”

She couldn’t see him behind her, but she knew he was smiling, and all teeth too. Vicious.

Luna wasn’t sure why, but without warning he spun her to face him. She suspected he just wanted to get a reaction from her that he wasn’t having the pleasure of getting while she walked ahead of him, but when he saw she had been crying and was _still_ crying, he let go and backed away. Apparently that wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for – but it _was_ the last he’d see from her for now.

He looked conflicted, but said nothing, so she turned back around one last time and kept walking. When they got to the mountain access road, they went their separate ways without another word. He got into his shiny red sports car, and she got into her stolen piece of shit four-door with the word S I N N E R spray painted on the hood.

 _Also appropriate_ , she thought miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me while I write this story! I'm going to be working on a few other FC5 WIPs for now but I hope this update is good enough to tide you over for a while. <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, my Far Cry 5 tumblr is marymay-fairgrave. Stop by if you'd like!


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